The Case of the Late Pig

Janet clung to my arm. 'They'd all shield her, wouldn't they?' she said unsteadily. 'After all, she had most to lose. Go back to Town, Albert. Give it up. Don't find out.'

'Forget it,' I said. 'Forget it for now.'

We walked on in silence for a little. Janet wore a blue dress and I said I liked it. She also wore her hair in a knot low on her neck, and I said I liked that, too.

After a while she paid me a compliment. She said I was an eminently truthful person, and she was sorry to have doubted my word in a certain matter of the afternoon.

I forgave her readily, not to say eagerly. We turned back towards the french windows and had just decided not to go in after all, when something as unforeseen as it was unfortunate occurred. Pepper came out, blowing gently. He begged our pardons, he said, but a Miss Effie Rowlandson had called to see Mr Campion and he had put her in the breakfast-room.

CHAPTER 7. THE GIRL FRIEND

As I followed Pepper through the house, I ventured to question him.

'What's she like, Pepper?'

He turned and eyed me with a glance which conveyed clearly that he was an old man, an experienced man, and that dust did not affect his eyesight.

'The young woman informed me that she was a great friend of yours, sir, which was why she took the liberty of calling on you so late.' He spoke sadly, intimating that the rebuke hurt him as much as it did me. He opened the breakfast-room door.

'Yoo-hoo!' said someone inside.

Pepper withdrew and Miss Effie Rowlandson rose to meet me.

'O-oh!' she said, glancing up at me under fluttering lashes, 'you're not really, truly cross, are you?'

I am afraid I looked at her blankly. She was petite, blonde, and girlish, with starry eyes and the teeth of a toothpaste advertisement. Her costume was entirely black save for a long white quill in her hat, and the general effect lay somewhere between Hamlet and Aladdin.

'O-oh, you don't remember me,' she said. 'O-oh, how awful of me to have come! I made sure you'd remember me. I am a silly little fool, aren't I?'

She conveyed that I was a bit of a brute, but that she did not blame me, and life was like that.

'Perhaps you've got hold of the wrong man?' I suggested helpfully.

'O-oh no...' Again her lashes fluttered at me. 'I remember you — at the funeral, you know.' She lowered her voice modestly on the last words.

Suddenly she came back to me with a rush. She was the girl at Peters's funeral. Why I should have forgotten her and remembered the old man, I do not know, save that I recollect feeling that she was not the right person to stare at.

'Ah, yes,' I said slowly. 'I do remember now.'

She clapped her hands and squealed delightedly.

'I knew you would. Don't ask me why, but I just knew it. I'm like that sometimes. I just know things.'

At this point the conversation came to an abrupt deadlock. I was not at my best, and she stood looking at me, a surprisingly shrewd expression in her light grey eyes.

'I knew you'd help me,' she added at last.

I was more than ever convinced that I was not her man, and was debating how to put it when she made a surprising statement.

'He trampled on me,' she said. 'I don't know when I've been so mistaken in a man. Still, a girl does make mistakes, doesn't she, Mr Campion? I see I made a mistake in saying I was such an old friend of yours when we'd only met once — or really only just looked at each other. I know that now. I wouldn't do it again.'

'Miss Rowlandson,' I said, 'why have you come? I — er — I have a right to know,' I added stalwartly, trying to keep in the picture.

She peered at me. 'O-oh, you're hard, aren't you?' she said. 'All men are hard, aren't they? They're not all like him though. O-oh, he was hard! Still,' she added, with a wholly unconvincing attempt at gallant restraint, 'I ought not to talk about him like that, did I, when he's dead — if he is dead. Is he?'

'Who?'

She giggled. 'You're cautious, aren't you? Are all detectives cautious? I like a man to be cautious. Roly Peters, of course. I use to call him Roly-Poly. That used to make him cross. You'd never guess how cross that used to make him. Poor Roly-Poly! It's wrong to laugh when he's dead — if he is dead. Do you know?'

'My dear girl,' I said. 'We went to his funeral, didn't we?'

I suppose I spoke sharply, for her manner changed. She assumed a spurious dignity and sat down, arranging her short black skirts about her thin legs with great care.

'I've come to consult you, Mr Campion,' she said. 'I'm putting all my cards on the table. I want to know if you're satisfied about that funeral?'

'It wasn't much to do with me,' I countered, temporarily taken aback.

'Oh, wasn't it? Well, why was you there? That's pinked you, hasn't it? I'm a straightforward girl, Mr Campion, and I want a straight answer. There was something funny about that funeral, and you know it.'

'Look here,' I said, 'I'm perfectly willing to help you. Suppose you tell me why you think I can.'